


Wicked Games

by Alternate_Alien



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dominance, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Joker (DCU) Played by Heath Ledger, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Moral Dilemmas, Psychological Torture, Scars, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut, Submissive, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternate_Alien/pseuds/Alternate_Alien
Summary: What a wicked game to play to make me feel this way...You never expected to be working at Arkham Asylum's maximum-security unit, and you certainly never expected to come close to the infamous Joker. Things have a strange way of playing out and you soon find yourself caught up in the criminal's games. But who knew someone so dangerous could be so charming?
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Reader, Joker (DCU)/You
Comments: 50
Kudos: 107





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm back on my Joker shit for some reason lol. I hope you are as well! Anyway, I had written a similar story for the Joker (2019) movie and have always wanted to kind of apply the same concept to the Dark Knight Joker. I can see it all playing out quite differently but I hope I can make it entertaining for you! Enjoy!

* * *

* * *

You stared down at the paper in your hands trying to make sense of the words on the page. With a shake of your head, you lifted your head and peered up at your supervisor with a scowl on your face. “I’m being transferred?”

The woman who you’d known for the past eight months nodded and stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray sitting perilously close to the edge of her desk. You were pretty sure they weren’t allowed to smoke inside the hospital, but who would stop them?

Anne blew her lungful of smoke out and thankfully directed it up over your head before shrugging her shoulder. “If it were up to me, I’d keep you around for a lot longer but this is out of my hands. They’re just so short-staffed over there.”

_Over there_ being the opposite side of Arkham Hospital. The maximum security wing where Anne had promised you when you were first hired that you would never have to go. From day one, your job had been fairly simple and straight forward; assist the nurses with whatever they needed you to do. And you did it well. 

While the other nursing assistants liked to complain about their jobs, about the patients, and the crap they had to put up with and you weren’t exactly thrilled with it all either. But you were quiet. The last thing you wanted was to cause trouble and so you kept your complaints to yourself.

And usually, that meant that your supervisors favored you just enough over the others to prevent something like this from happening. Anne sniffed and leaned back in her chair, the hinge beneath the seat creaking loudly.

“I don’t want to hand over my best CNA, but Jodie’s got a kid and you know how much of a fight Meryl would put up if I even suggested she be the one to go.” 

Which left no one else but you. 

No kids, no husband, no one to mourn you if one of the prisoners put you in harm’s way. Which was very likely. There was a reason the maximum security wing was so short-staffed. If people didn’t quit, then they usually left in body bags. No one retired from maximum security. 

The thought put a sour feeling in your stomach and you once again looked down at the transfer papers in your lap. Everything was filled out and while the first paragraph explained how this was a temporary transfer, you couldn’t help feel as if they were putting that in just to make you feel better about it. 

All they needed was your signature and you let out a slow sigh before reaching for the cup of pens sitting on Anne’s desk. With a click of the pen, you put the tip to the page and signed your name and while you felt as if you were signing your life away, you didn’t dwell on it.

“When do I start?”

* * *


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You take a tour of the maximum security wing of Arkham and see a familiar face.

* * *

“So this is the fresh meat they sent to us?” A voice filled with mocking humor made you blink in surprise. Anne had led you to the maximum security wing but more specifically, the nurse’s station. It sat in the middle of four long hallways that stretched out in different directions. 

A man who was two heads taller than you, with a broad chest that stretched his white scrubs, stood leaning an elbow on the raised portion of the desk. He eyed you up and down but not in a perverted way. He was sizing you up and judging your abilities.

Whatever. 

You didn’t exactly care what anyone thought of you. All you wanted to do was get your job done and live to tell about it. 

“Ah, don’t listen to him,” another man said, pulling your attention to him. He was shorter than the other one but just as wide and he flashed a friendly smile to you. “I’m Scott. I mostly work nights but they’ve got us working like dogs lately.”

You told him your name and hoped that they couldn’t tell how nervous you were. Scott and the other guy shared a quick look and it made your eyes narrow. They quickly masked it and the larger of the two announced he was taking his break and marched off.

“That’s Lars. Don’t let him get to you. He gives everyone shit.” He gave you no time to respond before he nodded his head and stepped out from behind the desk. “C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

If Anne hadn’t abandoned you the moment she pointed you toward the nurse’s station, you’d have looked to her for permission. But Anne wasn’t your supervisor anymore. Perhaps it was Scott. And if that were true, then you’d better follow him.

He was already several feet away and you hurried to catch up to him. With a glance back to make sure you were following, Scott pointed toward a doorway off to the right. “That’s the break room. Vending machines full of junk food and plenty of energy drinks on deck. I probably put on twenty pounds the first few months working here.”

Great. You’d always had a sweet tooth and if this transfer brought late nights, then you were definitely going to be indulging. 

“Bathrooms,” Scott called out, pointing to the left this time and you glanced at the two separate doors for men and women. “And down here are offices and the examination rooms. Therapy rooms are right there but down here, they don’t get a lot of use.”

On the opposite end of the hospital, the therapy rooms were always busy except at night. Most of the patients on that side of the building weren’t murderous criminals and could be trusted with group therapy sessions or even one on one. It wasn’t surprising that that sort of thing didn’t happen over here.

You shivered and pulled your sweater a bit tighter around you before turning the corner to follow your new coworker. You were thankful that Scott was so talkative because the longer the tour went, the more intimidated you became. The sheer size of the maximum security wing alone was enough to discourage you.

The halls that branched out from the central nurse’s station also circled around to connect like a giant wagon wheel. Scott led you down a hall that was marked with a faded sign that had the letter B written on it. 

“These are your normal crazies that pose a threat to society. Schitzos and psychos. Lots of biters down this way, so be careful.” He chuckled as if that was supposed to make you laugh. It didn’t. “Most are so drugged up they don’t even know where they are half the time.”

“What about the other half of the time?” You found yourself asking as you peered into the narrow, rectangular window in one of the doors you passed. The lights were off on the inside but you could make out the shape of a person laying in a bed without any sheets or blankets. 

That wasn’t so rare. Lots of the patients on the other side were suicide risks and needed paper blankets and sheets to keep them from hanging themselves.

Over here though, it just felt strange to see these people like this. 

Scott shrugged and lifted his hands to stretch them behind his head. “Ah, you don’t gotta worry. You won’t be alone on your rounds anyway.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of his biceps flexing just enough for you to notice and you let yourself smile. But only slightly. Your nerves were still taking priority over your body and you folded your arms over your chest.

“Now, this hall,” the man at your side said with a deep breath. He came to a stop at the corner and you glanced to the tile on the wall that had the letter D. “This one always freaks me out. These are the real psychos. The ones you hear about on the news.”

You swallowed and stared down the length of the hallway. One of the lights overhead flickered twice before going a bit dim and you waited for Scott to start walking. When he did, you followed behind him but couldn’t deny your curiosity a peek at each door.

The rectangular windows didn’t let you see much, but from the one or two rooms with the lights on, you could see the blank, dull painted walls and twin bed frames that were carefully designed not to have any nook or cranny where a patient could hurt themselves. Each room looked the same.

The only differences between them were the prisoners housed inside. Some of the criminals sat on their beds, staring at the walls and a few were laying down. 

Scott slowed and leaned a shoulder against one of the doors toward the middle of the hall. He gestured toward it with his thumb. “Know who’s in here?”

You shook your head and searched for a name beside the door. All that was there was a similar tile like the ones on the ends of the hallways and a number printed on it. 0801 was printed in black, peeling letters and your gaze flickered back up to meet Scott’s. 

There was a strange look of delight on his face, sparkling in his blue eyes. He seemed like a kid, on the edge of his seat, ready to tell you something exciting. You waited patiently and Scott nodded his head to the window.

You really didn’t want to look in the window, but your curiosity got the better of you and you slid closer to the door. Inside was dim, with only one side of the room lit from the lights overhead. The part left in the shadow was where a bed sat.

Or where one should have sat.

There was no bed frame in this room. Only a single mattress on the floor and a paper pillow laying halfway on it. 

But sitting in the middle of the mattress with his legs crossed and arms restrained in a straight jacket was a person you had definitely seen on the news almost two years ago. In fact, he had dominated every news station for weeks and Gotham was only just now starting to feel normal in his wake.

He sat facing the door, head ducked with his stringy hair framing his face on either side. It was in desperate need of washing and a decent hair cut but seeing the man who had nearly made the entire city buckle on its knees so...helpless made a strange feeling settle in your stomach.

Helpless wasn’t the right word.

Trapped...like a vicious animal waiting for the day when someone made a wrong move and he could be free again.

You started to turn back to Scott, to ask him if you were seeing things correctly, but before you could, the figure inside the room moved and your eyes widened. Slowly--just enough that his hair parted and he could look up at the door--he lifted his head. In an instant, your gaze met his and you felt as if you’d been shocked with electricity.

The knots in your stomach tightened and you quickly backed away from the door, fighting the rush of embarrassment to your face. Scott chuckled and ducked his head to peer into the room. He knocked his knuckles against the glass and you wanted to reach out and stop him.

“Look at him,” he said with a laugh. “Pathetic.”

For a moment, you stood beside your new coworker and stared at the door, not sure what to do. That look he had given you hadn’t lasted longer than a single beat of your heart and still, you could feel it pierce through you. 

Clearing your throat, you shook the mental image of his eyes out of your head and nodded toward the end of the hall. “When should we make our rounds?”

“Ah, shit,” Scott glanced at the watch around his wrist. “We should probably get on that since it’s almost supper time. These mongrels gotta eat, I guess.”

He turned on his heel and walked toward the end of the hallway and while his back was turned, you did something you probably shouldn’t have. But the curiosity to look back in that room was too strong and you turned your head to peer into the rectangular strip of glass.

And that stare, the one that would haunt you all night, was gazing right back at you. 

Two seconds was far too long and you quickly hurried to catch up to Scott, pretending to listen to him complain about the quality of food served in the hospital. Again, you closed the sweater tighter around you and crossed your arms over your chest, but it did little to soothe the goosebumps covering your arms. 

* * *


	3. Two

* * *

Days passed differently in the maximum-security wing of Arkham Asylum. The seconds ticked by like hours and you weren’t used to so much downtime. In the minimum-security halls, with the coworkers you were used to, things were always busy.

After meals, you would make another round to each room to make sure the patients ate their food and if not, you had to document it. Next came meds, then escorting the patients to group therapy and to the yard for a bit of outdoor time. You were used to being on your feet, constantly on the go, but now…

The downtime was almost unbearable. 

Scott passed his time by playing some incessant game on his phone that had a never-ending trill of music and sound effects going. He would park himself at the circular nurse’s station, feet propped up on the counter with his phone in his lap for nearly two hours a day. And that’s just the times you noticed him.

When he made his rounds--or when he was _supposed_ to be making his rounds--you suspected that he roamed the halls aimlessly. He didn’t give a shit about the patients and you understood where he was coming from. Most of these people in here were murderers and terrorists, locked away to never wreak havoc on anyone else again.

The only time they left their cells was to visit the doctor. There were no therapy sessions, no one-on-ones with a psychiatrist. Arkham Asylum was a hospital for the criminally insane in name only. Inside, it was a prison. A twenty-three hours a day solitary confinement prison. No wonder none of the criminals were ever rehabilitated. 

They were left here until they rotted away to ensure the safety of the public only because it was considered unconstitutional to give them the electric chair. And your entire job was keeping them alive before they ended up in the crematorium and their ashes scattered in the trash or the gutters. No one would claim them 

It made your rounds a bit creepier after you realized you would be one of the last people to ever see them alive. You watched them exist as ghosts before ever dying and often, you would stop in front of a cell to stare in and watch the patients--or prisoners--stand in their rooms. Some were confined to their beds or themselves, others left to roam their rooms.

There was one cell that you avoided though.

You had worked the past week and a half on this side of the hospital and every time you walked by that one door numbered 0801, you kept your eyes on the floor. When you passed his tray of food that he barely touched through the narrow slot in the door, you refused to look up at him. 

Because you hadn’t forgotten the way he had looked at you on your first night. 

Scott would enter the cell and make vague threats and insults to him as he unclasped the straps of his straight jacket and still, you kept your eyes on the tips of your white shoes. Somehow, you could feel him staring at you though and it never failed to make your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

Half an hour later, you would accompany Scott back around to collect trays and buckle the prisoners back into their confinements. The only reassurance you had was the single bodyguard, equipped with weapons, of course, that stood at the nurse’s station. His 360-degree view of the entire maximum-security wing and the gun on his hip were reassuring, but you couldn’t help wonder what would happen if a group of prisoners rose up in revolt.

Then again, most of them could barely string a coherent sentence together let alone carry out a devious escape plan. Whatever drugs the doctors gave them made them zombies and while you were thankful for their sedation, you couldn’t help wonder about the adverse side effects of it all. Surely they had it all under control, though.

After making your dinner rounds, you still had two hours to go on your shift and you found yourself at the nurse’s desk. Scott was where he usually was, feet propped up, phone in hand and you sat to his right working on your daily logs. Or well, trying to work on it.

Every thirty seconds or so, he would hiss and curse beneath his breath and the game he was playing would make a miserable sound. You clenched your teeth and stared at his screen from the corner of your eye, just wishing he would lose every round he played.

After ten minutes of being annoyed, you’d had enough and you tossed your pencil down on the counter. “Did you log in the afternoon medications?”

“Uh,” Scott said, tapping his thumb rapidly on the buttons. “I think so.”

You wanted to tell him that either he did or he didn’t. There was nothing to think about. If he didn’t do it, then you’d have to and it was nearly an hour-long process. You didn’t have time to do it on top of your other duties.

“Well, can you double-check? I’m going to get things ready for third shift.”

“Sure thing.”

He didn’t move an inch in his chair, only his thumbs tapped, tapped, tapped on the screen and with a roll of your eyes, you turned on your heel and left the nurse’s desk behind. The third shift CNAs were responsible for nighttime medications and making sure the prisoners didn’t die in their sleep. That was about it. But it was the second shift who had to get things prepped for them.

The task gave you a few minutes to yourself in the housekeeping area and you took your time usually. The smell of clean linens and the warmth of the dryers was a nice change from the cold AC blasting through the vents everywhere else in this wing.

But while it wasn’t your least favorite task, it did have its downfall. The housekeeping area was at the end of one of the halls that you had been avoiding most and you'd have no choice but to walk by 0801's cell.

You squared your shoulders and lifted your chin, keeping your eyes straight ahead. There was no reason to believe he would even see you and if he did, you didn't know what you were expecting. The guy hadn't said two words the past week and a half you were here and you highly doubted he could form a coherent sentence anyway.

Someone like that would be so drugged up, they wouldn't know they were even alive anymore.

As 0801 passed on your right, you put up your hypothetical blinders and stared at the door to housekeeping ahead of you. Once the cell door was behind you, you let out a breath and grabbed the ring of keys on the lanyard hooked to your waist.

The housekeeping room was warm and you took a deep breath of the fresh detergent scent. One of the dryers was going and the constant, low whirr of the motors was actually better than listening to Scott's game.

You moved to the shelves and stacked the paper-thin sheets, pillows, and cleaning supplies. The third shift was responsible for cleaning any mess in the cells in the mornings when some of the prisoners were taken for their showers and checkups. Frowning, you were glad that Anne had been able to ensure that you at least worked afternoons and not overnight.

That would have been rough.

Once you had restocked the housekeeping carts and made sure each of them had what they needed, you signed off on the paper on the back of the door and went to check on the dryer. The pillows inside were nice and warm but flat as pancakes. You didn't envy the ones having to sleep on them.

You thought of your double pillows on your bed at home and longed for the moment you'd be able to crawl up to them and nestle beneath the covers. With the pillows stacked, the dryer turned off and the carts fully loaded for the next shift, you backed out of the door and switched the light off with your elbow.

You locked the room behind you and set off back to the nurse's station. At the end of the hall, you could still see Scott's feet propped on the desk. It was clear that he didn't check to see if he had filled out his logs and you let out a sigh as you tried to clip the keys back to the thin belt loop on your pants.

"Good evening," a voice to your left said, making you start. The keyring fell from your fingers and hit the floor with a sharp jingle of all the metal keys. "Didn't mean to _scare_ ya, doll."

At the door that you'd been avoiding, the one that you couldn't even _look_ at, a figure darkened the narrow window. The lights in the cell were off, making him appear almost ghostlike as he stared at you through the glass.

"You didn't." You bent to pick up your keys and held them tightly in your fist, threading three between your fingers just in case. As you stood back up, you shook the hair from your face and stared at him. "You shouldn't be speaking to me."

Before you could walk off, he shifted on his feet and leaned closer to the glass. Through the criss-cross of the mesh through the window, you could see the corners of his scarred lips curling into a smile.

"How _about_ you spare an extra pillow and I promise not to talk to you ever again."

Your lips pursed and you crossed your arms over your chest. You weren't a stranger to cheeky patients on the minimum security wing and you were careful when dealing with them. Most just wanted a moment to talk, to feel a semblance of normalcy in their confinement. Perhaps this was all he wanted as well.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

" _Ah_ , that mean you _want_ me to keep talking to you, doll?"

Your mouth opened and you quickly shut it again. Scowling at him, you lowered your keys to your side and shook your head. "You're not half as charming as you think you are."

Despite your stomach tied up in knots and the pain from gripping the keys between your fingers so hard, you somehow managed to respond without your voice giving away your fear. Casting a quick glance to the desk ahead of you, you saw Scott's feet still propped up and were relieved that he was only a quick jog away.

But what were you afraid of anyway? There were two inches of steel between you and prisoner 0801.

"That right?" He said, his voice pulling your attention back to the window in his door. His mouth was set in a smile that made the blood rush to your face, making your ears ring, and you quickly stepped away. "See ya tomorrow, _doll_."

The emphasis on that word made you stumble slightly and you whipped your head back around to glare at him. He chuckled, the sound low and almost growling before he slipped away from the door and disappeared into the darkness of his cell once more. The entire encounter left you feeling...strange.

Your body was buzzing with anxiety and the knots in your stomach were making you feel sick. But just beneath all of that, there was something else and you shook your head, not letting it surface. By the time you made it back to the nurse's station, Scott wasn't alone at the desk. The security guard was no longer at his post, leaning over the counter to stare down at the screen of Scott's cell phone.

"Dude, you've got to hit the aliens with the plasma cannon."

"What does it look like I'm trying to do?" Scott snarled, pressing the buttons of his phone harder with his thumbs. You stood there, hands on your hips, staring at them. It was a good thing nothing _had_ happened to you back there.

These two idiots wouldn't have even noticed.

"Did you do the logs?" You said, getting the attention of the security guard for a split second before he looked back down at the cell phone.

"Huh?" Was all Scott offered and you'd had enough.

Rolling your eyes for the hundredth time, you snatched the clipboard of his logs out from beneath his legs and grabbed a pen from the cup on the desk. There was no point even arguing. If you left it to him, it'd just be half-assed and you weren't going to get in trouble for a job you shouldn't even be doing in the first place.

You moved into the staff's break room and dropped the clipboard onto the first table. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you starting logging in the medications and checking off on each prisoner. Halfway down the page, you noticed a familiar combination of numbers.

0801

His words repeated in your head, echoing the way he had spoken them to you. _See ya tomorrow, doll._

You shook it from your head and set your pen down on the paper. But try as you might, you couldn't concentrate on your job. All you could see was that cheeky smile as he stepped back into the darkness of his cell and the sound of his voice calling you _doll._

* * *


	4. Three

* * *

From down the hall, you could hear a dog barking like crazy. Pets weren’t allowed in your apartment building, but most of the tenants didn’t follow the rules set in the lease. The building wasn’t in the Narrows, but it was close enough that rent was cheap and you didn’t quite feel safe walking the streets alone at night.

With a sharp twist of the key in the deadbolt, you pushed your front door open and sighed at the sight of the mess of laundry you’d left on the couch. Before you left for work earlier that day, you had thought finishing it after your shift wouldn't be a big deal.

Now, you had a bone to pick with yourself. Dropping your purse and keys on the table inside the door, you ignored the pile of laundry for now and instead made your way into the kitchen. A container of leftover pasta was calling your name and you were about to answer it. 

You didn’t bother with a plate. You ate right from the tupperware until your stomach was much too full and even when you knew you should stop, you took another bite and closed it up. Once the plastic container was back on the nearly empty shelf of your fridge, you pulled the ponytail holder from your hair and scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails.

The ends of your hair felt healthier after your last haircut, but it was still taking some time getting used to. It had been a while since you’d had your hair this short but so far, you were okay with it. Keeping long hair was a dangerous game to play while working in a psych ward. 

It wasn’t rare that a patient would have an episode and grab anything they could and you’d been on the receiving end of that one too many times. Now, you never forgot your ponytail holders--keeping one on each wrist just in case--and last month, you’d decided to cut your hair just to reduce the risk of having your hair ripped out.

The cut was nothing too drastic, but it was still taking a while to get used to. 

A hot bath sounded wonderful at the moment and for just a while longer, you decided to neglect your laundry. 

The apartment you rented was a bit small and shabby. It was a studio apartment wedged into the far end of the hall on the fifth floor. It had an L-shaped kitchen, a decent sized living area and a bathroom that had some of the best water pressure you’d ever had. That kind of thing was rare with this cheap of rent and this close to the Narrows.

You’d wondered occasionally if the other tenants had this much luck or if the landlords had felt bad about your less than five hundred square feet. As far as you knew, there was only one studio on each floor but that was fine.

Not like you had much to fill a bigger apartment anyway. And you definitely didn’t have anyone to live with you. 

Maybe you should get a cat.

You stripped your scrubs off on the way to the bathroom, kicking your pants toward the hamper that sat outside the bathroom door. They didn’t make it and like the laundry on your couch, they were ignored. 

The bath was calling your name and you sat on the edge of the tub in your bra and panties, working the faucet to get the perfect temperature. Steam rose from the water starting to pool up and you stood, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Your panties joined the garment on the floor moments later.

You turned to the sink and brushed your teeth, avoiding your reflection in the small, square mirror in front of you. It’s not that you hated your appearance, but you’d made it a habit to never stare too long at yourself while naked. There were too many flaws...too many scars that you couldn’t erase.

As you scrubbed your teeth, you stared at the drain in the sink and let your thoughts wander to the sound of the water filling the tub. Thinking about your scars, even in such fleeting moments, brought up the memory of a pair of scars that had startled you earlier today.

Prisoner 0801 had smiled at you as he leaned against the door, putting on the charm as if he wasn’t a mass murder wearing a straight jacket behind a two inch sheet of metal. Did he honestly think you were going to humor him with a conversation?

The psych ward was a fitting place for someone that delusional.

You leaned forward and spit the toothpaste into the sink before rinsing your mouth. All thoughts of the prisoner--you refused to think of him as anything but a prisoner--swirling the drain with your discarded toothpaste.

Turning to the tub, you twisted the faucet and stepped in, sinking down until you leaned your head against the rim. You closed your eyes and let the heat of the water envelop you. Hopefully, it would help work out some of the tension that had been collecting across your shoulders. 

As your body relaxed and you let your mind drift aimlessly, a voice echoed in your head almost as clear as if they were standing in the bathroom with you. 

_ See ya tomorrow, doll _ …

You frowned and shifted in the tub, opening your eyes to scowl at the wall across from you. Now why in the world were you  _ still _ thinking about that? It had been creepy and inappropriate and there was no point in dwelling on it anymore.

It's what you told yourself, but your mind had other plans and no matter how frustrated you got, you couldn't seem to stop the echoes of his voice from playing. 

.

.

Two days later, it was Friday and you were beyond ready for the weekend. The week had been long and strange and you were in no mood to deal with anything except getting through the day. You didn’t have any plans for the weekend, but you didn’t mind. Sitting at home all day, watching TV and eating greasy takeout sounded perfect. 

But you could tell that the day was not going to go by quickly the moment you pushed the double doors open to the maximum-security ward. The supervisor who you barely worked with was sitting at the central desk, a phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he lifted his hand over the counter.

He snapped at you several times and you clenched your jaw, picking your pace up just a bit. You put your hands down on the counter and lifted your eyebrows. He held up a finger and you hid your scowl and swallowed the sigh threatening to come out of your lips. 

The supervisor’s name was Ted and he was middle aged, balding, and possibly one of the grumpiest men you’ve ever met. Nothing was ever good enough and he could find the smallest things to complain about. But for some reason, he adored Scott...the one worker in the place that barely did his work. 

And Ted didn’t seem to like you very much at all. 

You were the only woman working the same kind of job as the others and you were certain Ted thought you should work in Housekeeping with the other women, but he couldn’t lose the help. He was already short staffed as it was and if anyone else quit due to the harsh work environment, the state would come in and do an evaluation.

Though, according to Scott, they threatened it every year and haven’t showed up once. 

You situated your purse on your shoulder as Ted nodded and said a few ‘uh-huhs’ into the phone. “Well, you tell him that he better be  _ sick _ . And I mean puking his organs out because if I find out he’s not actually sick, there’s going to be a lot of reckoning to be had.”

And sometimes, Ted would say stupid shit that didn’t make a lot of sense.

He slammed down the phone and peered up at you, tenting his fingers beneath his dimpled chin. “Tell me you’re available to pick up a shift tomorrow.”

Your mouth dropped open and you blinked down at him, waiting for the punchline to the joke. You’d already worked forty hours this week. Was he seriously asking you to come in on your offday?

“I…” God, you’d always been a bad liar. Scratching at the inside of your wrist, you shook your head and sighed. “I’m free, I guess.”

“Thank you, Jesus!” Ted put his hands flat on the table and stood, knocking the chair back. He stepped out from behind the desk and you could only stare with annoyance. He didn’t thank you, but snapped his fingers over his shoulder and walked to the employee break room across the hall. You followed, glaring at his back as he strolled into the room. “You’ll be working housekeeping.”

The squeak of your sneakers echoed in the room as you came to an abrupt stop. Ted moved toward the drink machine and you could only stare at him. That bastard.

“Housekeeping is kind of below my pay grade. I mean...I’m a nursing assistant--”

The scathing look he gave you as he smashed his thumb into the button on the vending machine, sweeping down your front and back up to your face, made your words freeze in your mouth. You clamped your lips shut and folded your arms over your chest. 

“Yeah, well, there’s no one else available and you already agreed to it. No one likes a sour coworker.”

You frowned and watched him brush past you. “I’m not trying to be sour, it’s just...I’ve never worked housekeeping before and I’m not comfortable with going into the patient’s rooms.”

“ _ Prisoners _ ,” Ted corrected you, not turning to look back at you as he made his way to his office. “How hard can it be? You strip the beds, you take them to the washers, and you put new sheets on. It’s not rocket science.”

And with that, he slammed the door shut in your face, letting you know the conversation was over. The strap of your purse slid down your shoulder and you barely caught it before it fell to the floor. Behind you, the double doors swung open and you heard the familiar voices of Scott and Lars.

They were discussing some football game and they ignored your presence in the hall as they moved into the break room. Great. Another night of picking up the slack of annoying men that would rather goof off than do their job. And no lazy Saturday to look forward to.

Sighing, you turned on your heel and crossed to the break room. If you were going to get through the night, then you were going to need some help from the coffee maker. 

Nearly six hours later, Ted had left, Scott was parked back in his chair and Lars was busy wrestling one of the patients--prisoners into their straight jacket. You stood at the nurse’s desk, arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the open door of the cell closest to the central area in the middle of the hallways.

From within the room, you could hear Lars having issues with the inmate. Every few seconds, a stream of curse words would come out of his mouth and the prisoner would either giggle or shriek. 

“Shouldn’t you help him?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the door just in case. 

Scott and the guard standing watch for the night--you’d forgotten his name--didn’t seem too concerned that their coworker was struggling with a potentially dangerous criminal. With a scoff, the man behind you dropped his feet onto the floor and the creak of the hinges beneath his chair made you glance back at him. 

“You’ve seen how big Lars is. No one’s gonna mess with him.”

it was true. The guy was built like a boulder, but that didn’t mean he was out of harm’s way. The security guard chuckled and stepped off the stool. He twisted at the waist to pop his spine and slowly made his way to the cell door.

You watched him as he shuffled into the cell and tapped his baton against the metal door, making the clanging noise echo. “Hey,” his voice made you sigh. “Cut it out or you won’t get any meals for the rest of the week. You wanna act like an animal, you’ll starve like one.”

Even though the guy was confined in Arkham for the rest of his life, you didn’t think he deserved to starve. You opened your mouth to speak up, but the words stuck like glue to the back of your tongue. Far beyond the first cell where the guard and Lars were now standing together, you could see a pair of hands hanging out the opening of one of the doors.

It was far too close to the one cell in particular that you didn’t let yourself look at or even get near the past few days. But it couldn’t be  _ him _ ...Scott had told you that that particular prisoner was only allowed out of his straight jacket for showers and meals. It had to be one of the others.

Before you realized what you were doing, you were passing by the open door where Lars was finally securing the inmate into the jacket. The two men laughed as the prisoner finally gave in after the threat of starvation. None of them looked your way and you pulled your sweater tighter around your waist before crossing your arms back over your chest.

You could feel your pulse thumping beneath your jaw and with every step you took, you thought of a hundred excuses to make you turn back around. But you didn’t. After passing the first five doors on the right side of the hallway, you were in disbelief. It was definitely 0801’s hands sticking out the rectangular opening in the door.

When there was only one door between you and his, you came to a stop and glanced back at the desk. Lars and the guard had joined Scott and were laughing together. It made you nervous to know that not a single one of them noticed you were no longer standing there.

But they were close enough that they could be at your side in seconds if you screamed and honestly, what did you have to be afraid of. Sure, he had somehow gotten out of his straight jacket, but that didn’t mean he would open the door or attack you. 

“Gonna stand there all  _ night _ , beautiful?”

The sound of his voice, deep and a bit raspy, made you start and you nearly turned on your heel and ran. But no...he had seen you and the last thing you should do is let him know you were afraid of him. 

Clearing your throat, you smoothed your hands down your sweater and stepped up to his door. You kept a few feet away from him, just in case, and scowled up at the window above his hands. 

Like last time, it was dark in his room, making his face shadowed--his eyes particularly. You took a deep breath and lifted your chin to stare at him, hoping it made you look confident and unafraid. 

The way his mouth stretched into a grin made you doubt he saw you as anything other than a scared little bunny. “ _ There _ you are. Was hoping you’d come see me,  _ beautiful _ .”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, you get  _ right _ to the  _ point _ , don’t ya? I like that.”

Something about the way he spoke to you made your skin crawl...but, that wasn’t quite right. Spiders made your skin crawl and thinking about deep water for too long made you feel like that.  _ He _ made you feel something different. It was sinister but...strange. 

Pursing your lips, you glanced back at the desk and found Lars flipping through a magazine, the guard back on his stool, and Scott was nowhere to be found. God, did they even know you were working tonight?

With a roll of your eyes, you turned back to the window and found his gaze burning into yours. The darkness surrounding his eyes reminded you of his mugshot you’d seen plastered in all of the newspapers. There was no makeup now. Only the shadows that surrounded him and again, you felt your skin crawl with something other than revulsion. You had to get these thoughts out of your head.  _ Now _ .

“What happened to your jacket?”

0801 rolled his shoulders and smacked his lips. In the opening of the door, he turned his hands until his palms were up as if he were shrugging. “I took it off.”

“How?” You asked, your eyebrow lifting in curiosity. 

He grinned and leaned closer to the window until his forehead was just barely pressed into it. The quick flick of his tongue nearly stole your attention, but you kept it steady and looked him in the eye as he answered.

“ _ Magic _ . Want me to show you some of my-- _ ahem _ \-- _ tricks _ ?” 

This time, both eyebrows lifted in surprise and you  _ almost _ laughed. You quickly pressed your lips together and clamped your teeth down on them. Before you could say anything--though you weren’t sure how to even respond to that at the moment--0801 stood up straight and took his hands out of the opening. He put one on the door above his head and leaned close to the window again.

His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept down your face and to your chest for only a brief moment before it flickered back up to your eyes. “What’s your name,  _ beautiful _ ?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t...or  _ won’t _ .”

“Both.”

The prisoner clucked his tongue and tilted his head to the side before standing up straight. His hand dropped from the door and though it was dark inside, the light from the hallway let you see enough of him. And his bare chest. 

Your eyes widened and you took a step forward before you could stop yourself. In the bottom corner of the window, you noticed the familiar orange pants that the prisoners wore and let out a breath of relief. At least he wasn’t naked...you didn’t think you were equipped to handle something like that. Shirtless was bad enough. 

“Where is your shirt?”

“Ah, why don’t you come  _ find _ it.”

Okay, you’d had enough. Dropping your arms to your side, you turned and headed back down the hallway. At the end, you could see the guard picking something from his teeth and you pushed the sleeves of your sweater up to your elbows. When did it get so warm in here? Was the AC on? 

When you got to the desk, you put your hands on the counter top and blinked down at Lars. “I think we might have a small situation.”

“Huh?” He asked, glancing up from the pages of the magazine. With a quick glance at the pages, you saw it was a Victoria’s Secret catalog and you didn’t even hide the roll of your eyes. “What’s up?”

“Um, well,” You shook the stray hair from your face and cleared your throat. “Prisoner 0801 is out of his jacket. I asked him what happened to it and he just gave me some vague answers. Tried to flirt with me and he’s shirtless too. Invited me in to his cell and--”

“Wait,” Lars said, shaking his head as he stood up. He laughed in disbelief. “Prisoner 0801? He talked to you?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure it was him?”

You stared at him. “Yeah. I was just talking to him like three seconds before I came up to you.”

Lars glanced from your face to the hallway and back to you again. He shook his head again but this time, the look on his face made the knots in your stomach tighten. “You’re telling me the god damn Joker just spoke to you.”

“Yes! God, how many times do I have to--Where are you going?”

You stepped around the desk as he crossed the hall and hurried into the break room. Inside, you can hear him giving Scott a hasty retelling of what you had said and from behind you, the security guard stepped up. He sucked his teeth and leaned against the door frame of the break room.

When you made your way to the room, Scott was standing up and all three of the men turned to stare at you. “What the hell is going on?”

Again, you tell them what you had just told Lars and they blinked at you as if you had grown a second head. You sighed and stared at each of them, letting them know you were getting tired of this weird game they were playing with you. 

“Can one of you tell me why you’re all staring at me like that?”

“Kid,” the security guard beside you started, stepping away from the door frame with a scoff. “That guy don’t talk to anyone.”

“Huh?”

“The Joker,” Lars chimed in. “He hasn’t said a single word to anyone since they wheeled him in here.”

You shifted on your feet and slowly lowered your arms to your side, pulling your sweater sleeves down as you did so. The knots in your stomach were twisting tightly and you suddenly regretted ever bringing it up to them. You didn’t like the way they were staring at you and you shook your head, not sure what to say. 

“He’s...out of his straight jacket.”

Across the room, Scott sighed and nodded to Lars. “We’ll handle it. C’mon, Toby.” The guard stepped away from you and you watched the three of them meet in the hallway outside the break room. “We might need you if this psycho decides to get jumpy.”

“Way ahead of you,” the guard--Toby--said as he unclipped the gun holster at his side. In unison, they turned and headed down the hallway across from you and all you could do was stand there and watch them. 

Your head was full of questions and no answer fit right with any of them. Why on earth would he speak to you if he hasn’t talked to anyone else in over a year? Surely he spoke to the doctors! The guys were just playing a trick on you. 

They were being jerks and trying to scare you. But, if they weren’t...and he really had never spoken to anyone else since he was brought into Arkham Asylum then, why did he talk to you? 

And why was your face  _ so _ warm that you were having a hard time convincing yourself that you weren’t blushing. That would be ridiculous though. 0801 was a psychopath. He had murdered people, had terrorized Gotham for weeks, and was sedated with a cocktail of drugs that every other inmate took as well. 

So, why was he talking to  _ you _ ?

More importantly, why did it feel like he wasn’t just talking to you...but  _ flirting _ ?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker and reader get a bit *closer* next chapter...:D


	5. Four

* * *

Ted was a dick. That was all you could think about as you worked your surprise Saturday shift in a department you’d never worked before. Housekeeping wasn’t as simple as he had made it out to be the day before. It was hard work-- _dirty_ work. 

Work that you would never agree to do again.

The other housekeeping workers weren’t friendly at all. They barely spoke to you and didn’t seem to care that you were covering a shift for a department you’d never worked before. You were expected to just know what to do as soon as you clocked in.

For the first half of the morning, you’d followed around a woman who spoke very broken English and didn’t seem to like you much. But she hadn’t yelled at you when you asked what to do like the nurse’s assistant who worked the weekend shift. That guy was a dick too, just like Ted. She didn’t tell you _not_ to follow her and when you went into the rooms behind her, she tossed the bedsheets at you and pointed to the various parts of the housekeeping cart for the items she needed.

By lunch, you and the woman you’d been following around took a break and you made your way back to the housekeeping area to drop your cart off. Apparently, the break room you were used to using was only for nursing assistants and the housekeepers took their breaks in their cars or outside in the parking lot. 

Which was where you found yourself twenty minutes after noon. The workers were broken into their little groups that you clearly didn’t belong to and you found an old picnic table sitting toward the back of the parking lot.

It was meant for the workers but looked neglected. The grass beneath it hadn’t been mowed in months and you sat with your legs crossed on the seat. From here, you could see the parking lot stretching out toward the right around the back of the building, and to the left was the yard the minimum security prisoners used.

It was fairly empty with only a small group of four or five inmates sitting around with a therapist. You smiled as you remembered taking the patients outside for group therapies. It was such a nice treat for them, and for you. 

You’d never liked being cooped up before. As a kid, you’d spent every minute outside that you could. Being stuck inside had been torture…

You couldn’t imagine what it would be like for someone mentally ill--even the criminally insane. It seemed inhuman to force people to be confined 23 hours a day in a cell. Then again, these people were dangerous and had killed multiple people. This was their punishment. 

This wasn’t a fancy resort rehab center that celebrities went to when they got too many DUIs. This was Arkham and anyone that was wheeled in through these doors deserved to be here.

Across the parking lot, you spotted the woman you’d been shadowing all morning. She was climbing out of her car and smoking the last bit of her cigarette which meant the break was almost up. You sighed and stood from the picnic table to stretch your arms over your head. 

You glanced up at the multiple rows of windows on the building ahead of you and could have sworn you saw someone staring back down at you. Blinking, you trailed your gaze across the side of the asylum, looking for a face in one of the windows but found nothing but the horizontal, metal bars across them. 

Weird…

You even _felt_ like someone had been watching you now. Crossing your arms over yourself, you followed the woman back into the building. She glanced at you and let out a heavy sigh that she didn’t even try to hide. It made a blush of embarrassment flare across your face and you looked down at your feet.

What did they expect you to do? 

A part of you wanted to fake sick and go home. Fuck Ted. You were fairly certain you weren’t helping anyone by being here today anyway. All you were was an extra pair of hands to a woman who couldn’t even tell you what to do. 

But still, you followed her into the building to the third floor where you were assigned. Back in the housekeeping area, she pointed to one of the carts and tossed you a box of latex gloves. “Need towels,” she told you, nodding her chin to a shelf in the corner. 

You nodded and went to grab a stack of the folded towels. They were white and once fluffy but now the threadbare material didn’t seem like it would clean much at all. You put a stack on the cart and the woman marked a check on her clipboard. 

“Now cleaner. In back shelf, top.”

You blinked and hesitated, not sure if she meant in the back of the shelf or on a shelf in the back. Before you could ask her to elaborate she pointed angrily toward the back of the room. “Back shelf, top!”

“Okay!” You threw up your hands and turned on your heel. Today was, by far, one of the worst you’d worked on this side of the facility. The only good thing was that staying busy really kept your thoughts away from a certain conversation you’d had the night before with a certain inmate.

Even better was that the woman you’d picked at random to follow around didn’t seem to work that particular hallway where a certain inmate resided. The two of you had stuck to the opposite halls where most of the patients were so drugged up, they were zombies. 

You only saw them for a few seconds anyway. They were wheeled away for their morning showers and doctor appointments. Thankfully, there were enough nursing assistants through the day shift to ensure that each patient had at least two guards on them at all times. It was far different than the shift you had been working.

Then again, you were thankful that your shift didn’t require the prisoners to leave their cells at all. The last thing you wanted was to have to be around the prisoners without the metal door between you and them.

With a sigh, you reached for the cleaning bottles on the top of the back shelf. Exactly where your new friend had shouted they were. Behind you, the industrial dryers were tumbling loudly and made this part of the room hot and muggy. You blew the hair from your face, stood on your tiptoes, and managed to curl a finger around the bottle’s nozzle, pulling it to the edge of the shelf. The bottle tipped over and you caught it in time before it fell to the floor. 

You snagged another one just in case and spun around to make your way back to the woman and the cart at the front of the room. But you didn’t get far. 

Standing in the middle of the room was someone you weren’t expected to see at all. Sucking in a sharp breath, you stared at one of the prisoners in his bright, orange jumpsuit. He was one of the ones that were _supposed_ to be drugged up and zombified. Staring at him now, you spotted one of the threadbare towels in his hands spotted with what looked like blood and it was very clear that he was _not_ zombified.

Your blood froze in your veins and you could only think about how you were going to die in this musty room all because of Ted. The prisoner grinned, though it was more like a snarl, and you took a step back until your shoulders were pressed into the shelf behind you. You raised one of the bottles of cleaner and pointed it at him like a gun.

If he took a single step toward you, the only thing you could do was spray him in the eyes with bleach cleaner. It wouldn’t take him down, but it would definitely blind him long enough for you to get away.

Where the hell were the guards? 

Oh, god...Had he taken them out too?

“You’re a good looking one,” the prisoner said with a slurp of saliva in the corner of his mouth. His eyes skated down the length of your body. “Good enough to gobble up in one bite.”

“Don’t come any closer,” you said, hoping you sounded at least a tiny bit threatening despite your entire body trembling. 

“Or what?” The prisoner laughed. “You gonna stop me?” He took a step closer, letting you see around him and you sucked in a deep breath. 

Laying on the floor near the door and the cart you had been loading was the poor woman you’d been following around. A small, halo of crimson surrounded her head and you tried to back up further into the shelves. Your fist squeezed around the trigger of the cleaner bottle but was stopped. 

Fuck!

You hadn’t twisted them to spray yet.

With a gasp, you stared up at the prisoner with terror. Panic was gripping your chest so tightly with its icy claws that you couldn’t even breathe. This was it...you were going to die.

“I think I’ll start with your neck,” he said, coming closer, twisting the towel around his fist. “I like chokin’ them out, watching the light fade from their eyes. And you got a lot of light in your eyes.”

You didn’t want to hear anymore. You threw one of the bottles of cleaner at him and he deflected it easily, swatting it aside. But he hadn’t been ready for the second bottle. It popped him right in the side of the face and he stumbled back with a grunt. While he was distracted, you ran. 

But you had barely crossed the room when your arm was snatched and you were spun back around. It happened so fast, you barely had time to react. You screamed as he shoved you into the shelves with all of his strength. The corner of one of the wooden planks hit right along your eyebrow and the pain that exploded was sharp and warm. 

“Oh, don’t you scream yet,” a voice snarled at your ear as the inmate wrapped an arm around your neck to keep you still. You winced and tried to blink the black spots out of your vision. “I ain’t even started yet--”

His words died quickly on his lips and you felt the arm around your throat fall away. The weight of his body fell against you and you managed to grab hold of the shelf in front of you to keep from going down to the floor with him. 

The prisoner’s body slumped at your feet and you stared down at it as a trickle of blood slid down the side of your face. A pair of scissors stuck out the side of the inmate’s neck, buried all the way to the handles. 

You whirled around and winced as the room kept spinning. Dizziness swam through your vision and you brought a hand to your head, pressing a palm against the cut along your eyebrow. After several blinks, you stared at another figure dressed in a tacky, orange jumpsuit in front of you.

He was taller than the last guy, with his hair pulled back behind his head. Your first impression of him was that he was incredibly handsome if it weren’t for the scars on either side of his mouth. Realizing you were staring up at inmate 0801 without the two inches of steel between you made your eyes widen and you quickly looked around for anything to defend yourself.

The only things on the shelves behind you were pillowcases and extra sheets. 

“It’s a shame we had to meet this way, _sweetheart_ .” The corner of his lips lifted into a cheeky smile that drew your gaze down to it. Your head swam and you blinked to try to focus through the dizziness. “I’d have _preferred_ a proper _introduction_.”

“You killed him,” was all you could manage to mumble.

“Just noticed that, did ya?” 

All you could do was stare at him. The pain in your head was almost unbearable and through the haze, you noticed he stood rather strange. Shoulders hunched, head tilted down as he stared at you, and the orange jumpsuit with Arkham Asylum printed in big, black letters across the chest hung loosely off of him. He was thin but had strength to his body you couldn’t figure out.

Behind him, at the door to the housekeeping room, two more figures appeared and you breathed a sigh at the sight of their familiar, white orderly uniforms. One of them shouted and prisoner 0801 slowly raised his hands in surrender, never taking his eyes off of you. 

“Why?” You found yourself asking, knowing it was of the least importance at the moment. Your eyes never left him as he lowered himself onto his knees as several guards and orderlies filed into the room. Someone dragged away the poor woman in the doorway and two uniformed men with guns pointing at 0801’s head stepped around him. 

They were shouting at him, demanding he get down on the floor, and as someone came up to you, the prisoner smiled. The gesture stretched the scars on his face and his strange, scarred grin was the last thing you remembered seeing before you were whisked out of the room by two orderlies.

.

.

It took three stitches to close up the gash on your eyebrow and you barely flinched as the on-call doctor snipped the thread with the scissors. He didn’t smile at you and treated the whole thing as a minor inconvenience to his day. You watched from one of the infirmary beds as he tossed his gloves and the needle into the biohazard bin attached to the wall.

“Has the dizziness subsided?” He asked, glancing back at you from over his rounded spectacles. 

You nodded and reached up to touch the small stitches sewn into your eyebrow. The doctor snatched your hand, making you blink up at him in surprise. With a shake of his head, he let your wrist go and you stared at him. 

The doctor was a strange man, which was fitting since his name _was_ Strange. You’d never worked with him personally. He was usually only in the asylum three days out of the week and never after a certain time. But you’d heard enough rumors about him to know not to get on his bad side.

“Yeah,” you found yourself muttering. “It’s gone.”

“Good. Now, onto other important matters.” Dr. Strange pulled the stool up to the bed and lowered himself onto it. He looked odd sitting on top of the stool, dwarfing it with his massive size. What was with all the men in the maximum-security wing? 

Did they all work out at the same gym? Lars, Scott, and now this guy looked like they were all competing with one another to be the beefiest guy in Arkham. You pursed your lips and folded your hands in your lap, waiting for him to speak. 

The doctor adjusted his glasses and peered up at you. “I was told that an inmate has started speaking to you.”

Oh yeah, you’d been wondering if this would come up. With the way the guys had reacted last night when you told them 0801 had not only spoke to you but carried on a conversation, you figured this wouldn’t fly under the radar. You regretted ever telling them. 

With another nod, you peered down at your hands in your lap. “Yeah, he did. A few times.”

Dr. Strange nodded and crossed his legs. “Interesting…”

No, it really wasn’t. So the guy had talked to you--flirted even--a few times. That didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was just tired of never talking. Maybe he was bored. Swallowing, you lifted your head and peered down at the doctor. 

“How so?”

“Well,” the man said, once again reaching up to adjust his glasses. “I have worked closely with this particular prisoner for several months and have not had a bit of progress with him. He simply...shut down. Until now, it seems.”

You shrugged and turned away from him, staring at the rows of windows that ran along the length of the infirmary. “Well, I’m sure he’s just bored. Isn’t he on 23 hour solitary?”

“By his request when he was first brought to Arkham, yes.”

You frowned. He had requested solitary confinement? Most prisoners could be threatened with that to behave if they were acting up. It was weird that he would prefer that, but then again, he had nearly destroyed Gotham. The guy wasn’t right in the head in the first place. 

“Tell me,” Dr. Strange started, reaching into the pocket of his lab coat. You watched him pull out a small notebook and pencil. He tapped the tip to his tongue before putting it to the paper and lifting his eyes to stare up at you over his glasses. “What exactly did he say to you today.”

The question made you frown and again, you found your eyes moving to the windows to your right. Your memories were hazy, but you could recall exactly what he had said, and the way in which he had said it. But did you want this guy knowing that? Clearing your throat, you shrugged your shoulders. 

“He said something like, it’s a shame we had to meet this way and that he’d have preferred a proper introduction.” You conveniently left out the part where he had called you _sweetheart_. 

Dr. Strange scribbled in his notebook and without looking up, responded. “And the other instances that he spoke to you?”

Thinking of the other times 0801 had spoken to you, the way he had flirted with you, only made an unwanted warmth touch your cheeks. You shifted on the infirmary bed and curled your fingers into fists in your lap. The tips of your fingernails dug into your palms and you focused on the sharp sensation before relaxing your hand.

“The first night, he asked for an extra pillow, and last night, he was out of his jacket. When I asked him how he got free, he said magic. And he--” you swallowed and risked a glance at the doctor. His pencil stilled on the page as he waited for you to continue. “--he offered to show me some more tricks.”

The pencil scraped over the paper as he finished his writing and for a few seconds, he sat staring at the page of notes. You chewed the inside of your lip and wished the day would just end already. The supervisors for the weekend had already given you permission to take the day off. Like you needed their permission.

There was no way you were going to linger around after being attacked by a psycho...and saved by one. That realization made the cut on your eyebrow sting again and you reached up, catching yourself before you could scratch at the stitches. 

Why had he saved you?

Had he been in on the attack or...none of it made sense and thinking about it only brought more questions. 

All you wanted was to go home and forget this day had happened. The supervisor had told you that you’d have to file an incident report with HR on Monday and you dreaded that. Yet more people you’d have to tell about 0801’s weird conversations and random flirtations with you. 

“Interesting,” the doctor muttered before flipping the notebook shut and slipping it back into the pocket of his lab coat. He stood from the stool, making you lean back as you peered up at him. “May I ask for a favor from you?”

“A favor?” You already didn’t like the sound of that.

“Yes. To better understand someone’s mind, especially someone as extraordinary as prisoner 0801, it’s imperative for us to observe him in different environments. So far, we’ve had no luck in anything. He simply does not react to anything.” Dr. Strange’s eyes flickered to your face through the lenses of his glasses and you swallowed. “Except you. Over the next few days, when working your shift, I must ask that you engage with the prisoner and record the conversations.”

You reeled back slightly and let out a scoff. When he didn’t react the same, you blinked up at him in disbelief. “What, like wear a wire?”

“No, nothing as drastic as that. A simple pen and paper, writing down his responses to you. Just simple observations that can aid me in my studies.” 

You frowned. His studies? The way he spoke about 0801 made it seem like he was a lab rat being tested. It was creepy, but who were you to argue with a medical professional? For the third time, you found yourself unable to respond except for a nod of your head. 

Dr. Strange smiled and it was almost as bizarre as seeing 0801’s scarred lips stretch into a grin hours ago. The doctor picked up his black, leather bag and secured the latch over the top before lifting it by the handles. “Good.”

And with that, the man turned on his heel and left you sitting on the bed in the infirmary, staring after him. How had this happened? One minute, you had a maniac’s arm around your throat, and the next you were tasked with carrying on conversations with one of the most notorious criminals in Gotham’s history?

You sighed and finally reached up to scratch at the stitches on your forehead. When you pulled your finger away, the tip was stained with fresh, bright blood and you scowled down at it. Another scar to add to your collection. And for some reason--though you couldn’t be too sure why--you knew it wouldn’t be the last you’d receive while working on the maximum-security wing. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so one of my biggest Joker fanfic pet peeves is when Joker saves the main character and she falls in love with him. I'm not doing that, so don't worry. :) Hope you liked the chapter!


	6. Five

* * *

Needless to say, the weekend of relaxation, Netflix, and takeout that you’d planned for yourself didn’t happen. You’d spent the entire morning on Sunday laying in bed and even though you had been awake since right before the sun had come up, you couldn’t fall back asleep.

But you stayed in bed and stared at the wall, trying to sink into the blankets where it was easy to pretend the incident in the housekeeping room hadn’t happened. The longer you laid there, the more the thoughts crept into your head. It was mostly questions about what had happened--questions you didn’t think you’d ever know the answer to.

Why had prisoner 0801 saved you? If he was in on the attack, then wouldn’t he have tried to hurt you as well? And of course, that begged the next question...if he wasn’t in on the attack then what was he doing in that room?

It wasn’t exactly your job to know the prisoner’s schedules but you were fairly certain each inmate on that particular hall had already been taken for their daily shower and returned earlier in the morning. There was no way he had been out of his cell after lunch unless someone released him.

And of course, that line of thinking only made more questions pop up and you were sick of trying to answer them. Though you had wanted nothing more than to have a lazy day, you knew that wasn’t going to happen anymore. Your lazy day had turned into one filled with whatever could keep your mind busy on meaningless tasks and off incessant questions about prisoners.

Your busy Sunday meant you slept like shit that night and on Monday afternoon, you were exhausted but forced to clock in two hours early for the meeting. The Human Resources department was on the bottom floor of the asylum that consisted of mostly administration offices and the kitchen area.

The only time you’d ever been in here was for your initial interview. They’d hired you on the spot after hearing you had an open schedule and no prior felonies. Not exactly reassuring, but you had needed the job.

You still needed this job.

You were fairly sure they were worried about you quitting after the incident, but you weren't exactly in a position to turn down a job that you already had. As frustrated as you were with being forced to work among the maximum-security prisoners, you weren't going to quit.

Of course, you weren't going to tell them that just yet.

The human resources manager for Arkham was an older woman. The nameplate on her door had said her name was Mary Birchfield. She looked about as frazzled as a woman working in such an area could look. Her greying hair was piled into a bun on top of her head, the kind that looked like an egg sitting on top of a loose wiry nest. It did her pudgy face no favors but you weren't anyone to give advice on appearance.

It was a good day if you remembered to put on mascara. Most of the time, you forgot makeup even existed. So you sat quietly, hands tucked beneath your legs in the uncomfortable chair in front of her desk, and watched the egg-shaped bundle on top of her head bob back and forth as she moved about her desk.

She was looking for whatever form you had to sign but was having a hard time in the clutter and mess accumulated. File boxes were stacked in every corner of her office and papers were sticking out from under the lids.

If this woman was a representation of what was going on behind the scenes at Arkham Asylum, people would be horrified to know the most monstrous criminals were locked up in such a disorganized place. And it wasn't just this woman, either. No one seemed to know what they were doing around here.

"Ah, here it is!" Mrs. Birchfield called out as she pulled a thin, stapled stack of papers from one of her desk drawers. You forced a smile as she looked up at you from over her half-moon glasses. "You'd think we'd have a copy of these on every corner of the place."

You frowned. "Do a lot of people get attacked?"

"Oh, no. Well," the woman sighed and tilted her head to the side, making the egg bob to the side. "Lately, there's been more incidents. But it goes in waves. The prisoners will get unruly and feed off of each other and then after we have to crack down, it settles."

Great. If this was just the start of one of those waves, then you were in for more headaches. You reached up to scratch at the stitches on your eyebrow and winced. The wound was still tender and the stitches Dr. Strange had sewn into your skin felt too tight. You hoped nothing would get infected.

He hadn't given you any ointment to use or told you how to care for it. Luckily, you were familiar with wound care and you dropped your hand back to the chair as the woman put her pen to the top page of the stack of papers.

"This is just your basic confidentiality agreement. It makes sure you won't go to the press with things that have happened in the prison. You signed one on your first day, but we like to make sure our bases are covered."

You leaned forward and stared down at the form. It wasn't reassuring that the first form you sign after a nearly life-threatening incident was a non-disclosure statement. Really shows where the priorities of the administration were.

With a deep breath, you signed your name onto the page and let her turn to the next one. The woman scooted her chair closer to the desk and you stared down at the incident report. Someone had already typed up exactly what happened, though it left out what prisoner 0801 had said to you.

His number was right beside the other prisoner's number and you couldn't help staring at those four numbers.

_ It's a shame we had to meet this way, sweetheart _ ...

Clearing your throat, you pushed the echoes of his words out of your head and read over the report. It got most of the details right except one thing. You pointed down to the paragraph and looked up at the woman. "Oh, I think there's a mistake."

She slid the papers back across to her side of the desk and peered through her glasses down at the page. "With what, dear?"

"It...It says prisoner 0421 and 0801 attacked me. 0801 didn't attack me."

Mrs. Birchfield arched her eyebrow and looked back up at me over the lenses of her glasses and shrugged. "What difference does it make? They were both out of their cell and had both attacked someone."

"Yeah but 0801 attacked the one who was attacking me."

Mrs. Birchfield let out a haughty laugh and reached up to take her glasses off of her face. "Dear, I don't mean to scare you, but did you think about what would have happened if the orderlies  _ hadn't _ gotten there when they did? He’s one of the worst cases we’ve ever seen here so you could have ended up like poor Griselda...or worse."

With that, she slipped her glasses back onto her face and slid the papers toward you once more. Griselda must have been the woman you'd followed around on Saturday, the one who had been attacked first. Even now, you could see the bright red halo of blood around her head on the floor.

You hadn't even asked about her. It made you feel like shit and you let out a breath you'd been holding. "Is she alright?"

"She's in the hospital, but word is she'll make a full recovery. On our dime."

You signed your name at the bottom of the incident report and lifted your hand so the woman could flip to the next one and you waited for her to explain it. "This one just says you can't hold the prison responsible for the attack."

She said it so simply but you couldn't help but stare down at the page in confusion and a bit of shock. If it wasn't the prison's fault then whose was it? Surely, someone had to take responsibility. You wanted to ask what would happen if you didn't sign the papers, but you had a feeling the answer would come with a termination so you kept your mouth shut.

With a final signature, the woman took the stack back from you and forced a smile. For just a moment, you sat there and didn’t quite know what to say or do next. Was the meeting over? 

“You’re welcome to start your shift early tonight.”

They called you in two hours early for this? You wanted to roll your eyes but knew there was no point being like that. It’s not like she truly cared anyway. Grabbing your purse from the floor beside your chair, you stood and left her office. Once you were in the elevator leading up to the third floor, you let your head fall back against the wall and let out a heavy sigh.

And while the old motor whirred to life above you, those pesky thoughts floated through your mind again. What  _ would _ have happened if the guards hadn’t rushed into the room on Saturday? Would prisoner 0801 have tried to attack you, kill you? Was that why he was talking to you and only you lately?

Because he wanted to kill you?

No, you just couldn’t believe that. Maybe it was just because you didn’t want to believe it, you weren’t sure, but you truly didn’t think he would have hurt you. There was something in the way he had smiled at you while he was on his knees, hands held up in surrender. It had been...cheeky. 

Nothing like the sinister grin the other inmate had given you before attacking you. 

The bell above the elevator doors dinged before they slid open and you stared out at the double doors down the hall in front of you. They were automatic and with a quick swipe of your badge, they would open for you to start your shift.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the elevator just yet. There was still the task that Dr. Strange had set for you and right now, you weren’t exactly in the mood to deal with any of that. All you wanted was the meaningless tasks that occupied your thoughts and kept them off of questions you’d never know the answer to.

The elevator doors started to close and you quickly put a hand out to stop them. Time was up. You couldn’t hide in the elevators all night and since you were early for a shift, you figured you might as well get this over with.

Scott wasn’t yet on duty and instead, you were stuck with the first shift workers. They weren’t  _ unfriendly _ exactly, but they didn’t really seem to want someone there with them. Since they had things covered, you parked yourself in the break room with your list of tasks for the night.

Med rounds, meals, another set of rounds, and then lights out. There wasn’t much to occupy your mind since you were essentially a babysitter just to make sure these people didn’t break free or die all of a sudden. 

You put your head in your hands and leaned over the table, staring down at the Formica tabletop. Through the years, it had taken a beating and you focused on the chipped edges, trying to clear your mind. 

“You’re the chick who got attacked, right?” A voice at the door made you lift your head and you blinked at one of the first shift orderlies. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a lop-sided grin lifting the corner of his mouth. 

You nodded and sat up straighter. “Yeah.”

“So? Is it true?”

“Is what true?” You frowned.

“Is it true that the Joker tried to rape you?”

Your jaw fell open and you stared at the guy in stunned silence. Did he honestly think that was an appropriate thing to ask? Sputtering, you turned in your chair and shook your head, having lost the ability to speak apparently. Finally, you managed to ask a simple, “ _ What _ ?”

The guy shrugged and pushed away from the door to move further into the break room. “You know how rumors fly around this place. That’s just what we heard.”

“Well, that is  _ not _ what happened. Prisoner 0421 attacked me and...no, neither of them tried to rape me.” The rumor made your stomach clench, making you feel sick just for having to clarify to these people. With a shake of your head, you watched the orderly open the fridge door. “Just so you know, if he  _ had _ tried to, it’s not really appropriate to ask the person it happened to.”

Scoffing, the guy stood up straight and held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist. We just heard the rumors and I wanted to know the truth.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Sure.” He shrugged and popped the tab on his soda. Before he took a sip, he gave you a look over and seemed to be judging you in his head. What a dick! “You’ll probably have your hands full tonight with him. He’s been in the hole the past two days.”

And with that, the orderly strolled out of the break room, leaving you to stare after him. What the hell was the hole?

As soon as Scott was clocked in an hour and a half later, you jumped from your chair and tucked your hair behind your ear. He seemed a bit surprised to see you but must have heard the rumors as well. A light clicked on in his head and his face turned into a sympathetic smile as he made his way to his locker at the back of the room. 

“How you holding up, kid?”

Since when did that become your nickname around here?

“I’m fine,” you said in a single breath. “I heard from the other orderlies that 0801 is in something called  _ the hole _ . What the hell is that?”

Did you look too eager to ask that? Whether he found it weird or not, he didn’t show it. You followed him into the locker area and he threw open one of the doors before tossing in his keys and wallet. He scoffed and glanced at you from over his shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah. I forget you’re new around here.” As he closed his locker and secured the combination lock in place, he turned to you. “The hole is a different kind of cell. No windows, no bed, one meal a day, just a bucket to piss in and the door.”

For the second time, your jaw fell open and you stared at Scott, waiting for him to tell you he was joking. When he didn’t, you shook your head and tried to find something coherent to say. “That’s...kind of barbaric.”

“It’s a prison,” he said with a shrug. “What’d you expect?”

“I mean...they’re still human beings.”

He let out a single, barking laugh and stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “Yeah right. These assholes lost their humanity a long time ago. Come on, we’ve got rounds and I wanna get through them fast.”

And he did. He barely slowed down to check in on the prisoners, leaving you to do a quick sweeping glance in each window before you hurried after him. No one  _ seemed _ to be dead or sick. And as you came down hall D, you lingered a half a second longer at the door labeled 0801. The room was empty and you frowned before catching up with Scott.

“So, when does he get out?”

“Who?”

You rolled your eyes at his back. “0801. When does he get out of the hole?”

Scott shrugged. “Probably tomorrow. Could be next week for all I care.”

You stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at him making his way toward the central hub in the middle of the third floor. Why did no one seem to care? Why did you? He had broken out of his cell and as Mrs. Birchfield had said earlier, he  _ could _ have hurt you far worse than the other guy. 

But there was still something in your head telling you he wouldn’t have. Not to mention, he had stopped that lunatic from hurting you more than he already had and you hadn’t even thanked him. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and caught up to Scott by the time he reached the nurse’s station. He flopped down in the rolling chair and sighed as if he had worked an eight-hour shift instead of taking a leisurely walk around the halls.

“And where is the hole?”

“Basement,” was all he offered you before pulling his phone out from his pocket. He pulled up his stupid game like usual and you didn’t try to hide rolling your eyes. 

“I’m going to get the carts ready for the med rounds.”

Scott didn’t answer but you didn’t really care. You weren’t going to get the carts ready anyway. 

You didn’t even know there was a basement in the building, but that wasn’t very surprising. Why would you ever need to go to the basement in this place? Turning on your heel, you headed to the housekeeping room where the med carts were stored but before reaching the door, you turned to the left. 

Out of Scott and Toby’s sight--who was just as busy looking at his phone as Scott was--you headed to the stairwell at the back of the hall and swiped your badge before opening the door as quietly as you could. Not like either of the two guys would even hear you.

You hurried down the multiple flights of stairs and paused at the first floor to peek through the long, rectangular window in the door. The offices you’d seen earlier all looked closed up and not a single person was lingering in the hallway. For all you could tell, they were gone for the day.

Down you went another floor until you reached the basement. It was stuffy down here and you could hear the never-ending roar of the boilers. With another swipe of your badge, you opened the door and slipped inside. 

It was sweltering--worse than the housekeeping room when the dryers were all on. You let out a breath and fanned your face. Fuck, they put him down  _ here _ with only one meal and no window? 

God, you hoped he wasn’t dead.

Hurrying through the area, you realized it was mostly storage. Old hospital beds were stacked in several rows to the far right of the room and an assortment of medical equipment too big to be shoved into the cabinets were arranged around the floor. You rounded a corner and stopped in your tracks, your hand going to your chest. 

Three CPR dummies were propped against the wall, one with its head twisted all the way around, and you paused to catch your breath and slow your heart rate back to normal. This was by far, the creepiest place you’d ever been in.

And it only got worse. 

Around the corner where the CPR dummies were, there were six doors lining each wall. They looked similar to the doors on the third floor you worked on, but without the window. They were steel with three sets of locks and a simple sliding door in the center for passing meals and meds through.

You hurried to the first one and threw the sliding door open. The room was empty but the smell was rancid--as if something had died in there a long time ago and was never able to be aired out. 

Gagging, you shut the door quickly and moved to the second and then the third and fourth. By the fifth one, you were sweating and worried that the smell was coming from an actual dead body. 

You knelt down in front of the fifth door, held your breath, and slid the slot open. Just inside, what Scott had told you had been correct. No beds, no windows. Nothing but a bucket on the far side of the cell. And in the center was a familiar figure.

He sat on the floor, arms resting on his knees and his head hanging down. You stared at the stringy mess of hair hanging around his face and inched closer to the door. 

“Hey,” you said, instantly feeling stupid for addressing him so casually. When he didn’t look up, you cleared your throat. “Are you alright? Do you need any water or food? Have they been giving you your meds?”

For several seconds--it could have been longer--you held your breath and waited for his answer. You stared at his shoulders, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. At least he wasn’t dead. 

Slowly, 0801 lifted his head and let it fall back against the wall behind him. There was a smile on his face, which was surprising, but you found yourself more relieved to see him moving at all than you were worried about him smiling. 

“Well, hello there, gorgeous.” His voice was weak but you could still hear the flirtatious tone he had used the last few times he spoke to you. 

You couldn’t resist the corner of your lips lifting in a small smile. “Good. You’re alive.”

Through the strands of hair covering his face, you could see him raise his eyebrows and the grin on his face widened his scarred mouth. “I’ve lived through worse.”

“I believe that. Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer right away. He simply turned his hands over and shrugged. The way he moved was worrying. He seemed weak, as if just lifting his arms was a struggle and you could tell he was trying not to show it. 

Scowling, you lowered yourself onto your knees and looked down at the floor in the room. There was a tray of food that he had eaten and you were glad they were at least providing him that much. 

“I can’t believe they threw you in here.”

“Happens to the best of us, gorgeous.” He winced--though he tried to hide it from you-- as soon as the words left his mouth and you felt a sharp tremor of panic jolt through your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

0801 shook his head and let out a raspy laugh that echoed in the small space. “Not everyday a guy like  _ me _ gets this much attention.” You watched him lean his head to the side and stare at you. “Better be careful, gorgeous, or I’ll think you’re startin’ to  _ like _ me.”

Against your will, the tops of your cheeks turned warm and you had to duck your head to avoid his gaze. You cleared your throat and peered back through the narrow opening in the door at him. He was staring at you with a smile and a look in his eyes that was going to replay in your head all night. 

“Well, it’s the least I can do since you...you know, saved me and all that. Besides, it’s kind of my job to make sure you’re alive.”

“Is that right? Well, I’m a  _ lucky _ guy.”

“Says the one stuck in a hole in the back of a basement. I’m sorry they’re doing this to you.”

Again, he offered you a shrug and let his head fall back against the wall. “No good deed goes  _ unpunished _ .”

“Well, thank you for what you did.”

0801 lifted a single finger in acknowledgment and made a small hum in the back of his throat that made chills roll down your arms. Blushing from what he said was one thing, but liking the sounds he made? That was foolish and beyond stupid. You cleared your throat and slid back onto your feet.

“I’m going to get you some water. Don’t go anywhere.” 

Again, the sound of his raspy laugh brought another round of chills to your arms and you scowled at your body’s reaction. When he looked over at you, one corner of his lips lifting in a smirk, the blush returned as well. 

Could your body not control these things a little better? This was totally unacceptable behavior. Before you could stand up and hurry to the nearest vending machine for a bottle of water, 0801 made that same humming noise in his throat. It was deep, almost a purr and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep your thoughts focused on your task and  _ not _ on finding the sound attractive.

“Wouldn’t  _ dream _ of it, gorgeous.” 

You stood on your feet and turned toward the CPR dummies propped against the wall. Just the sight of them there, as if they had been listening to your conversation, made you shudder and you hurried back to the stairwell. The nearest vending machine that you knew of was on the second floor.

It was rather convenient. You didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into Scott or Toby and having to make an excuse as to why you were taking water and food back down the stairs. 

As you hurried to the second floor break room, fishing some change out of your pocket for a bottle of water, the sound that prisoner 0801 had made echoed in your head. You nearly dropped a quarter and managed to catch it against your chest as your cheeks flared hot. 

What was wrong with you?

Had it been so long since your last boyfriend that you were actually entertaining the idea of being attracted to a notorious--not to mention psychotic--criminal? You shook the thought from your head and scowled at your reflection in the glass of the vending machine. 

There was no way you were going to find anything he did attractive. That was simply out of the question. You had more sense than that. So the guy called you pet names and flattered you. Did that mean you had to think he was cute? Did that mean you had to blush at the things he said? 

No. Most certainly not.

So, why did you see a smile on your face in your reflection in the vending machine? And why, after grabbing the bottle of water and an apple from the table in the break room, were butterflies starting to flutter against your stomach as you made your way back down to the basement?

You forced the thoughts out of your head. There was no way you were going to be attracted to him. 

No way in  _ hell _ . 

Even if he did make you blush.

* * *


	7. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're surprised with a new job offer and come closer to prisoner 0801 than you've ever been before.

* * *

You didn’t dream often, but when you did, they were vivid and realistic and usually made you wake up in a sweat. This dream was no different except in addition to sweating, you sat up in bed, clutching your chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

Water.

You needed water for your parched throat.

Tossing the covers off of your legs, you stumbled to the kitchen that was thankfully not too far away from your bed. You didn’t bother with a cup; instead, opting to dip your mouth right under the faucet. Thankfully, it was freezing cold--just what you needed to break through the haze the dream had left you in. 

You gulped in several mouthfuls before standing upright and blinking down at the sink. The nightlight you’d had for several years was plugged in beneath the cabinets in the corner of the kitchen but the thing was old and was barely putting out light anymore. Just a soft glow that gave you enough to see your way to the fridge for your usual midnight snacks.

But tonight, you didn’t feel like munching on leftovers. 

Mostly because your stomach was so twisted into knots that the only thing you could stomach was water. And it’s not like the dream had been _bad_ , necessarily.

In fact, it had been pretty damn good. You didn’t dream often and sex dreams were extremely rare. Especially ones that left you feeling like _this_. Then again, that probably had more to do with _who_ the dream was about than what happened in it.

You closed your eyes and darted your tongue out to wet your dry lips and wondered if you should hop in the shower to calm yourself down--a _cold_ shower. It could help you get your mind off of a certain person you shouldn’t be thinking about and definitely shouldn’t be dreaming about. But it's not like you could help what demented things your subconscious conjured up. 

Not that the things he had done in your dream had been demented.

What was demented was you dreaming about a highly dangerous, psychotic, and deranged prisoner. Shaking your head, you turned back to your bed and sank into it to relieve your still wobbling legs. It was taking far too long for your body to get over the dream but maybe that was because it had been months--oh, who are you kidding? It had been well over a year--since the last time you had an orgasm that wasn’t from your own hand.

And the things he had been doing in that dream were…

Heat flushed your face and you shook the thoughts from your head before slipping your feet back into your sheets. You didn’t bring the covers up to your chest like you normally did. You needed to cool down first. 

You put your hands to your forehead and glanced to the only window in the entire apartment to your left. The view was probably the worst view in the whole city. The window looked out at the back of the building next door but you glanced at it to see if you could see the brick. It was faint, but you could already see the colors and it made you let out a sigh.

Too damn early to be waking up, but not late enough to go back to sleep for very long. Even though you didn’t work until four that afternoon, today was a day filled with errands and you’d been hoping to at least sleep until eight.

Thanks to your fucked up subconscious, that plan was out the window. 

Why the hell were you dreaming about him anyway? Was it because you were worried about him surviving the night while stuck in that hole? You’d brought him enough rations to keep him alive until you could call Doctor Strange and tell him what had happened, but you’d spent your entire shift trying _not_ to go back down to that basement to check on him. 

Mostly, you’d been able to stop yourself because checking on someone like that was ludicrous. He was a murderer! 

Or maybe you’d dreamed of him sitting you down on the desk in the nurse’s station, dropping to his knees and kissing his way up your thighs because you actually did find him charming--not as much as he thought he was, but enough to fantasize about him. 

No. 

That was almost as ridiculous as the dream had been. 

He wasn’t charming, he wasn’t cute, and he didn’t make you blush. He’d saved you from being choked to death and that was all this was. You were still just feeling the effects of the traumatic experience and what you needed to do was distract yourself from these thoughts. That had always worked in the past and a routine you knew well. 

Kicking your sheets off of your feet for a second time, you stood from your bed and decided the last thing you needed to do was lay in bed, replaying the dream in your head. But even as you stripped out of your pajama pants and top and turned the shower on, you couldn’t help thinking about the way he had stared up at you from between your thighs, the scars on his face shifting as they stretched into a wicked grin.

.

.

By three o’clock, you were regretting waking up when you did. You hid a yawn in the bend of your elbow as the bus wheels rolled over a pothole. The entire vehicle bounced and the sudden movement made your eyes go wide. It wasn’t enough to snap you fully awake, but you were thankful that you hadn’t leaned against the window to rest your eyes.

All morning, you’d run around Gotham, paying bills, restocking your groceries and toiletries, and managed to save just enough time to head home and dress in your work scrubs. You’d planned to grab a sandwich from the corner deli down the block from your apartment and to eat it in the employee lounge.

But one of your tasks for the day was to call Doctor Strange and tell him about prisoner 0801 spending nearly three days in the basement being starved. The conversation had been...weird to say the least and the doctor didn’t seem to care at all if what was being done was inhumane.

“How was his demeanor?” He had asked you right off the bat. “Did he seem irritable or angry?”

“No. He was almost the same just...weaker. They were starving him, you know?” 

“Interesting…”

The whole conversation had left a bad taste in your mouth and before you could hang up, he had told you to come straight to his office when you arrived at work. Now your stomach was too knotted up to eat and the sandwich you’d been looking forward to would just have to wait for another day. 

Why did he have to talk to you? You were just a nursing assistant. You weren’t trained or educated in psychology or the treatment of mentally ill patients. The only thing you knew to do was follow orders and do your job the way you’d been trained. 

The nursing assistant program at the hospital where you’d gotten your certificate had taught you how that empathy was key and one of the most important aspects of the job. And apparently, your empathetic nature was coming back to haunt you. 

The patients you were used to dealing with, the mentally ill yet not high threats to anyone but themselves, weren’t like the ones in the maximum-security wing. But no one had told you to treat them like animals and if they had, you didn’t think you could anyway. Maybe these people needed a little sympathy and humanity.

It was obviously working for prisoner 0801. 

Thinking of him brought up those dream memories that were fuzzy but still there in your head. You couldn’t quite remember the entire dream, just bits and pieces and it was those bits and pieces that you wanted to forget. 

It made things so much harder for you.

Because if you had to talk to Dr. Strange and he made you interact with 0801, you didn’t think you’d be able to stop yourself from blushing or feeling flustered. Rolling your tired eyes, you let your head fall back against the seat and listened to the rumble of the tires over the bumpy streets of Gotham.

It took about half an hour for the bus to drop you off near the asylum and you climbed the steps to the front entrance. Usually, you went around the back where most of the employees swiped their badges and clocked in. But since you had an unexpected meeting that was making the knots in your stomach twist and clench tightly, you went to the front.

The receptionist seemed surprised to see you. She checked your badge and directed you down one of the halls branching off from the main lobby. Dr. Strange’s office was on the opposite side of the first floor than the HR offices you’d visited this week. Most of the doors were shut and lights were off, making you wonder if anyone actually worked around here.

This place was barely functioning and everyone that worked here seemed hell-bent on doing the bare minimum. 

At the very end of the hall, you found Dr. Strange’s office and you tapped your knuckles across the door quietly. There was a shuffle from inside and someone cleared their throat, but no one told you to come in. Had he not heard you?

Again, you knocked and after the first tap of your knuckles, he called out to you. “Come in.”

Hiding the urge to roll your eyes, you pushed the door open and found the man behind his desk. He nearly dwarfed it with his wide shoulders and stature. Everything was neat and orderly and the wall behind him was covered in shelves. Scholarly books were wedged into every available space and you wondered if he’d read every one of them.

The guy was definitely strange so you didn’t put it past him.

He didn’t offer you a seat as he pulled a drawer open beside him on the desk. With a quick pluck of a file from inside, Dr. Strange set the brown folder on the desk and tented his fingers over the top of it. “Do you know what this is?”

“No,” you managed to say, your voice quiet. With the door still ajar behind you, Dr. Strange looked up at you through his glasses and the lenses caught the lights, obscuring his eyes. 

“This is the file for prisoner 0801, otherwise known as his alias Joker.” He opened the top flap and inside was a few sheets of paper. It was a thin file for someone who had been in the asylum for nearly two years. You frowned, not sure why he was telling you this. Before you could speak, he lifted the first page and peered down at it. “One page with his crimes before being admitted to Arkham. The rest of these pages are his medication routine and a single incident report, of which he had none until this past weekend.”

Sweat was starting to bead up underneath your arms and you resisted the need to push your sleeves up to your elbows. It was warm in the office and discussing prisoner 0801 after your dream was making you heat up. The tops of your cheeks turned pink and you blinked, not sure what to say to the doctor.

“Twenty-two months of silence until one nursing assistant comes along.” 

The tone in his voice was quiet and pensive as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle that had been troubling him for a while. He didn’t look up at you, didn’t offer much else in the way of words, and for several minutes, you wondered if he forgot you were even there. The seconds ticked by and you shifted from one foot to the other in front of his desk.

Swallowing the nerves back down, you opened your mouth to speak and was once again interrupted. Dr. Strange stood from his chair in a quick motion, making the room grow smaller around him and he put his hands down on the desk on either side of the thin file laying in front of him. 

“I’ve been thinking about the favor I asked of you.”

You nodded, unable to find your voice to respond even if you knew what the hell to say. 

“At first, I thought it would be beneficial if he were not to know of our arrangement. Now, I’m rethinking that strategy.”

_Strategy_? 

The way he talked about 0801 made it seem like the two of them were at war with one another. It made your brows pinch in a frown and you glanced down at the thick, oriental style rug beneath you. It took up nearly the entire length and width of the office, but it was nice and kept neat. You almost felt bad for walking on it. 

“I’m not sure I understand--”

“Who is your direct supervisor?” His question made you lift your head to stare at him and you blinked in surprise.

“I’m not sure, really. I was transferred from the other side of the hospital, from the minimum-security and when I got here, they just told me I was working the second shift. Ted has been kind of supervising me but he works first shift and I never really see him so…” You trailed off, averting your gaze from the doctor before you could ramble on anymore. 

“Ted,” Dr. Strange repeated, clasping his hands in front of him. “I will speak with him about changing your duties.”

You reeled back a bit and stared up at the man. What was happening? “They’re kind of short-staffed and I was filling in for--”

Dr. Strange waved one of his meaty hands and took a step forward. He put a hand to your shoulder and turned you toward the door. Instead of opening it and pushing you out into the hall like you expected, he slid it shut and dropped his voice. “Nevermind that. They can figure something out. Your new job is far more important and for tonight, I want you to observe and continue to keep communications open between you and prisoner 0801. Tomorrow morning, you will report to me.”

“Tomorrow morning--”

Dr. Strange gripped the doorknob with his hand and pulled it open. With just a slight push against your shoulders, he guided you out into the hallway and you nearly stumbled. To him, it had been a gentle nudge but he was far bigger than you were. Whirling around to face him, you blinked up at him in surprise. 

“Eight A.M. Sharp.”

And with that, he shut the door in your face and left you standing out in the hallway. There were a thousand questions you wanted to ask but couldn’t bring yourself to lift your hand and knock again. Not because you didn’t want the answer but because dealing with someone like Dr. Strange was mentally draining. 

He was confusing and intimidating, not to mention he didn’t exactly have the best bedside manner. You couldn’t imagine being one of his patients. No wonder one of them didn’t want to talk for two years.

Turning on your heel, you somehow found your way to the elevators though it felt as if you were running on autopilot. You knew you had to clock in and start your shift so your feet just moved on their own. There was no way you were able to think the entire night. Not when you had tomorrow to worry about and especially not when you would most certainly have to see a certain prisoner tonight.

Once you had reached the third floor, you didn’t even let yourself glance toward hall D, though your eyes were begging to just check and see. For what, you weren’t sure. Not like he’d be standing there waiting for you. 

Ducking your head, you hurried into the employee break room and found the locker they had cleaned out for you last week. It still smelled strange, like someone had left a tuna sandwich inside it for weeks, and you wrinkled your nose as you opened the door. 

“Hey, kid, what’s up?” A boisterous voice called behind you, making you turn to stare over your shoulder. A part of you wanted to tell Scott that _kid_ wasn’t your name, but you figured he wouldn’t care. “Ready for another thrilling night at the loony bin?”

“I guess,” was all you could respond with. Mostly because you weren’t sure if you should inform him or Lars about your new job description or not. Dr. Strange had told you not to worry about it, that they would figure it out, but you didn’t like the idea of leaving coworkers high and dry.

“Well, your friend is back home, so you don’t have to worry about sneaking off to feed him.” 

The way he said it, so casual and calm, still made your blood run a bit cold and your fingers froze around the locker door. For several passing seconds, you did nothing but stare at your purse sitting inside the square space while your heart hammered in your chest. 

Risking a glance back at Scott, you found him parked at the end of the table, unwrapping a burger he’d brought in from a fast food joint. He sank his teeth into it and finally lifted his eyes to you, eyebrows raising. The corner of his lips, dabbed with a bit of mustard, lifted in a smile. “Yeah, you weren’t fooling anyone.”

“Am I going to be in trouble for it?” Your eyes darted to the door. You weren’t sure if Ted was still here--he usually never stayed a minute past three--and you really didn’t want to get written up for being a decent human being. 

Scott shrugged and took another bite of his burger. “Long as you aren’t fuckin’ the guy, I doubt anyone cares.”

Heat rushed to your face and you whirled back to face the locker, eyes wide and heart skipping several beats as you pretended to search for something in your purse. What you wouldn’t give to have a piece of gum, just as an excuse to do something at that moment. 

You listened to the sound of Scott chewing sloppily and reached up to shut the locker door. Not even giving an excuse to leave the room, you crossed the hallway to the bathrooms and locked the door behind you. 

_Great_ , you thought. _Fleeing out of the room doesn’t look weird at all. Good job._

And really, what was there to flee from? It’s not like you _were_ fucking him. You knew that was a fireable offense, not to mention probably illegal in some way, and the last thing you wanted was to ruin your life over some criminally insane clown. Not that you would under any other circumstances. Just because he talked to you and flirted and was a tad bit more charming than you initially thought he was, didn’t mean you were swooning for the guy.

He was a human being and deserved to be treated like one. That’s all you were doing. 

After using the toilet, washing your hands, and making sure your face wasn’t blushing too terribly badly, you slipped out of the bathroom and headed back into the break area. Hunger was starting to make your stomach ache and while you didn’t get to eat your preferred sandwich, the vending machines were stocked with them.

You slid the quarters into the machine and chose a ham and cheese that didn’t look too old. Paired with a bag of chips and a soda, you sat down at the table next to Scott and ripped into the container. It didn’t look old, but it didn’t taste fresh either and you got through half of it before giving up on trying to pretend it tasted good.

By the time you’d finished your chips, Lars and Toby had made their way in and the second shift guard lingered to talk awhile. 

You weren’t interested in sports the way they were and while they discussed scores of the latest football games, you slipped out of the break room and started your rounds. It was frowned upon to start med rounds alone. Entering a cell required two people at all times but you weren’t going to do that. 

You were just checking on the inmates. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you quickly made your way through the halls, glancing long enough in the rectangular windows to make sure the person inside wasn’t dead. 

Only twice did you have to stop and stare, waiting for the inmate to move or breathe, and by the time you’d made your way around to hall D, you were regretting that sandwich. There was no telling what mood he’d be in. The way Dr. Strange spoke about him made it seem like he’d had anger issues in the past, but you’d never seen it.

Unless you count the terrorizing and murdering of multiple people in the city…

Shaking the thought from your head, you took a step down the hall and made sure the last two inmates were breathing. Ahead on the left, just another door away, was prisoner 0801’s cell and you told yourself you’d give him the same treatment you gave all the others. A quick glance to make sure he wasn’t lying dead on the mattress, and you’d move on.

You took a step and then another, first checking the door to the right of the hallway before your gaze swept to his door. The sight of him standing there, just inside the cell where he can peer out the window, his eyes instantly meeting yours made you falter and you blinked in surprise. 

“Hello there,” he said quietly, leaning a shoulder against the door and ducking his head so he could let his gaze take in the length of your body. You practically felt the heat of it rushing over you and you glanced cautiously at the circular desk at the end of the hall. From where you stood, you could see the break room door and Toby still stood with his shoulder against it, presumably still discussing sports with the two men inside the room.

A breath of relief left your lips before you crossed your arms over your chest and turned to face the cell door with the number 0801 painted beside it. 

“Hi.” You hadn’t meant for the word to come out so... _breathy_. But you couldn’t take it back now. All you could do was ignore the touch of pink on your cheeks and clear your throat. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged, the expression on his face passive yet when he met your eyes again through the mesh wires in the window, you could see a sparkle of humor. “ _Better_ now,” he said, shifting on his feet so he could come closer to the door. 

“Good. My nights would be a bit boring if you hadn’t made it.”

“Ah, and why is _that_?” 

From where you were standing--a few feet away because you still weren’t comfortable coming too close to him--you couldn’t quite see the familiar white, canvas straight jacket he was usually stuck in. The light in his cell was dim, giving off just enough light that if you were to stand on your tiptoes, you could see more of his body.

You kept your heels planted on the floor and felt the corner of your lips curl. “Unless it’s football or video games or Victoria Secret models, there’s not many interesting conversations going on around here.”

Inside the cell, he shifted again so he was on the other side of the window, peering down in the direction of the central desk. He clucked his tongue, the tip darting out at the corners of his lips before his dark gaze slid back to meet yours. “Maybe they just don’t know how to talk to _pretty_ girls.”

The blush across your cheeks could have lit an entire room and you ducked your head to hide it from him. Though something told you there wasn’t much you could hide from someone like him. Shaking the warm feelings from his compliment away, you lifted your head and scowled playfully at him. 

“You are--” Before you could finish your sentence, he did it for you.

“--not half as _charming_ as I think I am?” He shook away a strand of hair that fell over his eyes and a smile stretched across his face. It reminded you too much of the one you’d seen in your dream the night before and you took a deep breath and looked away from it. 

“Yes.” In a flash, Dr. Strange’s words echoed through your head, making you frown. _Twenty-two months of silence until one nursing assistant comes along_ … “Why have you never talked to anyone but me?”

The question left your mouth before you could even try to stop it and you weren’t sure what you were expecting the answer to be. Seeing his smile widen was surprising and for some reason, you found yourself taking a step toward his door. A quick glance back at the end of the hall and you confirmed that the three men were still preoccupied in the break room and had no idea what you were doing.

It made it feel wrong somehow--like you weren’t allowed to speak to him like this. With a deep breath that fogged the glass, he shrugged again and looked down the hall in the same direction you had. “I _suppose_ , there just hasn’t been any _interesting_ people to talk to.”

“And you think I’m interesting?”

“I guess we’ll _see_ , dollface.”

You ignored the last bit and shifted from one foot to another, scowling playfully up at him through the window. “You don’t even know my name.”

“That’s because you won’t _tell_ me your _name,_ dollface.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a sigh and seriously debated on telling him or not. It was frowned upon. You weren’t supposed to get close to any of the patients or prisoners--whatever they were--and you’d made it a personal rule not to give the minimum-security patients your name. They called you whatever they wanted to call you and you answered to it.

While you debated on whether or not to break your little personal rule for him, prisoner 0801 stood up straight and unfolded his arms from around his chest. Now that he was standing directly in front of the window, you could see the familiar orange jumpsuit with Arkham Asylum printed on the front. 

And though it was surprising that either they hadn’t put him back in a straight jacket or he had gotten out of it again, what made your eyes widen was the sight of his hand at the center of the door. He held it out, waiting for you to take it and your gaze flickered from his palm back up to his face. 

“You can call me…” He looked up at the ceiling as if he were thinking, his lips pursed. When his eyes lowered to meet yours once again, he smiled. “ _J_.”

_J_...You repeated it in your head and found yourself clamping your teeth around your bottom lip. It was better than referring to him as prisoner 0801 or his alias. Slowly, your arms unfolded and lowered to your side. Were you seriously thinking about this? 

He was a murderer.

A psychopath.

And he was definitely doing this for some weird reason that you hadn’t been able to figure out yet but you couldn’t help that you weren’t a bit intrigued by him. As long as there was at least a steel door between the two of you, was there really anything to worry about? 

“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll call you J. But what will you call me?”

“Whatever you _want_ me to call you.” With another step forward, you could easily reach out and take his hand. He kept it still though his fingers wiggled a bit as he waited. “Darling...gorgeous... _kitten_.”

You tried not to react, tried to keep your face as passive as possible, but the way he said the word like he was almost purring it, made your eyes widen. And he noticed. With a cheeky smirk that tilted one side of his scarred mouth, J narrowed his eyes. 

“Ah, _that’s_ the one.”

The blush you’d been fighting spread down your face to your throat and you had to look away from him. The look in his eyes, the intense mischief that made him seem both playful and dangerous, was almost too much for you to take. His voice echoed in your head, repeating the way he had said _kitten_ as if he could almost taste it. 

Fighting the smile that refused to stop teasing the corner of your lips, you met his gaze again and gave him a nod before you lifted your hand. You slid your palm against his and the heat radiating off of it was almost alarming. Was he feverish? Slowly, he curled his fingers around your hand, and gently, with just enough of a pull to make your eyes go wide, he drew you closer. 

The cold steel of the door and the peeling paint brushed the back of your fingers and you were faintly aware that in just another inch, your hand would be inside his cell. Your heart hammered against your chest so hard you felt dizzy and you held the breath tight in your lungs. 

He didn’t stop pulling you until you took a step to the door, reaching out with your free hand to press it against the steel just beneath the window. You gave just a bit of resistance and he stopped pulling but didn’t let go just yet. 

“Mm, nice to _meet_ ya, Kitten.” He emphasized his words with a brush of his thumb over your knuckle and you felt your knees get a bit weak. It had to be the dream you’d had about him. There was no other explanation. You shakily let out the breath you were holding in and nodded. No words came out of your mouth.

Your tongue felt too heavy and your thoughts were clouded. 

All at once, J released his hold on your hand and you pulled it out of the slot in the door quickly before anyone could see you. Just in time too. At the end of the hallway, loud, raucous laughter broke out and you jumped back on your heels to put distance between you and the cell door.

Toby was strolling out of the break room, but his attention was glued to the phone beneath his face and you quickly dragged in a breath to calm your racing pulse. Across from you, J continued to stare at you through the glass, the intensity of his dark gaze never wavering. The mischief was there, but not the playful kind. 

Now, it was full of danger and you swallowed tightly. “I should...I should go.” Your sneakers squeaked over the tile as you stepped away but you stopped before you got too far. Doubling back, you found him in exactly the same spot, still staring at you. “Actually, I should probably tell you that I’m not going to be doing what I’ve been doing. I mean, my job is changing and tomorrow I-I’ll be assisting Dr. Strange with some...things. I don’t really know what it is but…”

You were rambling again. Clamping your mouth shut, you cut your eyes away from his window, not wanting to look up and see the look in his eyes anymore. It was too much and you couldn’t quite process it after having him touch your hand the way he had. 

“Looks like _things_ are already getting _interesting,_ Kitten.”

You watched his breath fog the glass as he spoke and could only nod, not sure what to even say to him in response. Swallowing down your sudden rush of nervousness, you took a breath and met his gaze once more. “I have to go...Just, don’t call me _that_ in front of anyone else.”

“Mmm,” J hummed, reaching a hand up above him on the door so he could lean forward. “It’ll be our _secret_ , Kitten.”

“Right.” You turned on your heel and returned to auto-pilot. You took one step in front of the other until you were passing the central desk and could disappear back into the bathroom once more. As soon as the door shut, you let out a breath and leaned against it, staring across from you where the single mirror hung on the wall above the sink.

The flush sitting across your cheeks was so obvious. If anyone were to look at you right now, they’d be instantly suspicious and you wouldn’t be able to blame them. What the hell had happened? In less than a week, you’d gone from sharing a few words with the guy to blushing and _dreaming_ about him? And it’s not like he was a normal guy.

He was…

Annoyingly charming for someone with a rap sheet a mile long. 

Letting your head fall back against the door, you blew out a breath and stared up at the water-damaged ceiling tiles above you. You wanted to tell yourself that if you could just make it past this one shift, you’d feel better. 

But as soon as tonight’s shift ended, you’d be back inside Arkham at eight in the morning, facing something you had never dealt with before and if whatever Dr. Strange had up his sleeve for you brought you closer to J...You weren’t exactly sure what would happen, but this didn’t feel like good bedside manner anymore.

Not when he flirted the way he did. Not when he called you _kitten_. Not when his touch was still sizzling beneath your skin.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

* * *


End file.
